Black Widow
by HermitKnut
Summary: Seven years on, and the war still continues. As weary Aurors fight weary battles, the Black Widow walks. One-shot.


Black Widow

Summary: Seven years on, and the war still continues. As weary Aurors fight weary battles, the Black Widow walks. One-shot.

Disclaimer: This world and these characters do not belong to me – I claim responsibility only for the poem.

*

_The fighters looked, and there she stood_

_With death pale skin beneath black hood_

_Silent as shadow, dark as night_

_Death and pain are all her sight._

_The Black Widow walks._

*

It was evening, and the pub was open – but you wouldn't know it. Not a sound escaped from inside, and the windows were blocked by boards and old carpets, remnants of a now unused barricade. Not a chink of light escaped, and but for the sign on the door, it appeared to be in complete disuse.

But people still met here, drawn by the warmth of the fire and the anonymity of the ever silent barman. They are now all hooded and spelled to hide their identities – but the barman remembered a time when many young people met there, away from those responsible for them, with open faces, open hearts, and open minds.

One of the figures in the pub was a woman. She was perhaps in her late thirties, with mousy brown hair tied back in a bun. She too was hooded and carefully spelled, but it was clear merely by her stature that she was nervous. Although the others in the pub did not know this, she was an Auror – one of the few who had been in the war since the beginning of its second part. Her name was Katherine Hartells, and she was there to meet someone.

About half a mile away, a figure appeared with a _crack _and began to walk towards the pub. He was in his late twenties but his face was already lined by loss and pain. When he reached the pub he checked carefully around him and slipped inside. He joined Katherine at her table quietly, and waited for her to speak first.

"So you're the one who wanted to talk to – to –" He took pity on her and finished her sentence for her.

"To someone with some information, yes." This seemed to unsettle her.

"I ain't a spy. And I don't give away secrets, either."

"I wouldn't ask you to. I am not interested in the goals of either the ministry or the Death Eaters, merely my own. And the information I want is not of any strategical importance, but something you would dismiss as inconsequential." The man readjusted his chair and leaned towards her so their faces were only a foot apart.

"Let me tell you the story of a girl. They say when her fiancé disappeared with her brother and her closest friend, she went mad. Left the day after they did, didn't speak a word to anyone as to where she was going, took nothing with her except what she was wearing at that moment – not even a pair of shoes.

"Have I got your attention?" The expression on Katherine's face was partly horror, but mostly morbid curiosity. The stranger continued. "Yes, I think I have. Perhaps I should tell you the story in more detail.

"The day they disappeared, seven years ago, they were all at the family home for Christmas dinner – all of them. Mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, aunts and uncles, in-laws and cousins and friends and the like. There they were, talking and laughing, unwrapping presents, smiling – one big happy family. She had gone out into the kitchen alone, to get tea and coffee for those who wanted it, and as she was coming back, she noticed that it was strangely silent. Suspecting something was wrong, she left the drinks in the kitchen and walked quietly to the sitting room door, wand at the ready. She was just about to open the door when a tremendous bang filled the air, accompanying a blast that lifted her into the air and threw her out of the window. She fell outside into the pond, unconscious with her head under the water.

"When she woke up, she discovered that her family had all been killed, their bodies burnt almost beyond recognition. At first she made no motion at this news, beyond a widening of the eyes. Shock, they said. But the more was explained to her, the more she seemed to react – until upon being told that the bodies of her fiancé, her youngest brother, and her closest friend had not been found, a wildness took hold of her. She fought with the healers, and kicked and spat and bit and writhed, before they stunned her for her own well-being. They locked her in her room to sleep it off – with nothing else in there and her wand tucked away for safe-keeping. But in the morning she was gone, vanished into thin air, just like the other three – but wherever she went she took nothing with her but the clothes on her back, and not even a pair of shoes. To this day no-one can understand how she got out – even if she had been in the state to apparate, there were wards on the building to block that from being possible. And no-one has seen her since." He sat back, seemingly emotionless, allowing his words to sink in, and then rose.

"A drink?" Katherine was startled out of her thoughts.

"Oh – double Firewhisky. Thanks." He went to the bar and returned with two glasses of a murky amber liquid. He set them down on the table and continued.

"So, I've told you my ghost story – let's hear yours."

Now it was Katherine who leaned closer, her hands clutching her drink tightly as she began to speak.

"Look, it used to be just one of those old stories, y'know? Like the ghosts of the battlefield – a woman all dressed in black, watching the battles start and end; you know the sort of stories…well, about six or seven years ago now, she started appearing for real. Like, we'd be just about to fight, waiting for the orders to come, and suddenly she'd be there, someone would see her and send the whisper across the line, "Black Widow!" Like they'd do for sight of the enemy. Not close, mind, but always there, watching, from a distance – always looking out of the sun. You could never quite make out her face. And then the battle'd start, and you know how it is, you get caught up – but even if you got the chance to look, you couldn't see her. And then that'd be it, the fighting over, and by then you'd forgotten all about her, but for some weird reason, you always looked – sort of automatically. And there she'd be, as if she'd never moved, like she was waiting for one of us to see her before she left. And then she'd go, walking into the sun, even if that meant she had to walk right past you. Did that to me and my mate once. It was creepy – like after all the battle and all the dying, the thing that scared the hell out of most of us was her getting too close." She took a sip of her Firewhisky almost absent-mindedly, caught up in her tale.

"By looks, she's not much for fear – just a woman in a black skirt and cloak, hooded. Barefoot – always barefoot, even walking across the battlefield with blood and broken things. And she's real alright, a real person. But there's something unearthly about her, the way she looks around like she's seeing something else, the way she walks like she was light as air. It's spooky.

"The rest of them reckon she's bad luck, but I don't think so, 'cos it's not always bad for us – sometimes for them, and that's good for us, right? But the worst thing is getting seen. Sometimes, at the beginning, we'd catch sight of her, and instead of gazing down on the battlefield she'd be looking straight at one of us. To start with we didn't understand, but we got the message soon enough. The first one to get seen was Matt Howler – a young 'un, but they all are now. There's so few of us older ones left around to fight. He was scared – it was his first time. He was white and shaky, and the Widow caught his eye, staring at him for a full minute. No one thought anything of it, but after the battle someone said that Matt was in the Hospital Ward, that the healers weren't sure he'd pull through. He did though, just. Then it was Anthony Jason, then Natalie Warbecks, and we started to piece things together. It wasn't every battle, but the list grew. Some of 'em died. Some of 'em got really close. The others killed for the first time. Death – that's what she meant by being seen. She meant they'd be a part of it. As for the rest of us, we always waited for someone to be seen on a battle because it meant the rest of us would get off lighter. We knew it weren't the right way of thinking about it, but that's human nature, isn't it? You can't help but feel alright, safer if someone else is getting it bad.

"She never spoke. Never needed to I guess. But this one time, I swear this is true, we were walking back to the base and I turned around – and there she was, standing in the middle of all the destruction, a smile on her face and her arms and face raised to the sky, spinning around. And I know you're not gonna believe me, 'cos no-one else did, but I swear she was laughing. Not a happy laugh. More like pain, and sadness and horror. Gave me chills down my spine, I can tell you that." She drew her cloak around herself and seemed suddenly suspicious.

"So who are you, anyway? You never gave me your name. How do I know you're not one of the enemy, trying to pretend to be friendly so I'll let you in on the plans?"

"I suppose you will just have to trust me." The stranger stood up. Katherine stared as he dropped a galleon on the table. "That was all I needed to know. Thank you." He left, and as she sat stunned in the warmth of the Hog's Head, Percy Weasley stepped outside, the cold winter wind harsh against his face. A grimly determined, satisfied expression crossed his features, and he smiled.

"I'm coming, Ginny."

_Fin._

*

All reviews will be both appreciated and answered. Thank you – Hazel.


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